We're Not Golden
by minn's.star
Summary: No matter how the light tried to fool them otherwise, they never would be.   Semi-Historical DenNor oneshot, rated M for the last half of a sex-scene.


The incense was almost enough to suffocate Norway as he stood at the altar, Denmark's hand resting heavy on his waist.

He had always known that it would come to this, a priest standing before them, his own people believing that Norway was a woman as the two lovers were wed. He had swallowed the humiliation long ago, relinquished his title as the strongest of the Vikings and grew accustomed to the pretty clothes and the woman's work around the house, because the last thing he needed was someone calling blasphemy on the union of two nations. Their own people never understood the hoops that they had to jump through to please them- they were still so primitive.

It wasn't even the peasants that were concerned here- it was the nobles. How could they not recognize their own lands, Norway sometimes wondered. Couldn't they _feel_ it? Couldn't they feel the bond between themselves and their nation as the passed on the streets, or in the courts? Apparently not. That was why he stood here, masquerading at this altar. Sometimes he wondered if the priests knew, at least.

In the end, it mattered not. They were still so, so primitive and Norway had no choice by to condone to their customs to appease them. And they watched, they in that small crowd that Denmark had gathered to witness the ceremony as though if he didn't have proof of this union, it would cease to exist. Though Norway would have loved a wedding done in private, himself and Denmark only, he knew just as well as Denmark that witnesses were important. They were part of a wedding just as much as the incense and the church that it was done in.

This was the proper wedding that they had been waiting on for years. Denmark always promised him that they would have it; from the Viking ages he promised that they would have it. Norway remembered, vividly, the way that Denmark would caress his cheek, and then his waist, and then his hips (while Sweden was _right fucking next to them_ trying to sleep) and promise that they would marry. Norway never replied in words, only in moans and cries of _yes, yes, yes-_

Sometimes he would feel guilty in the morning's light with Sweden's eyes on him, so accusing, as he redressed next to Denmark. He always pretended not to see him, not to hear the soft, longing voice from behind him_- Norway, he almost begged -_ as they went back out into the world for another day. After all, they were all friends. Surely Sweden could understand.

He shouldn't care what Sweden thought. He had delayed this once already, after all. He even had the gall to suggest Norway and him marry, when Denmark was still so clearly his intended. Any guilt that he had felt from the Viking ages had long faded at that point- should have, at least. Surely it had. That was what Norway told himself.

The priest droned on, and Norway tried to listen. He stole a glance at Denmark, who only smiled at him and squeezed his waist a little. He was doing the right thing. He had to be. It felt right- at least, it was supposed to. Denmark turned back to the priest, smile still on his lips, but Norway continued to watch him from the corner of his eye. He had fallen in love with that smile, he was sure. It was vivid, so full of life and strength, and it forced Norway to acknowledge that he did indeed want this.

Despite that, he somehow still felt uneasy.

What would Sweden think right now, if he were here watching this with the rest of his people? Would he have the decency to hold his tongue, refrain from objection? He should. Norway was happy. He should be happy.

Outside, the Danish colors flew. Red and white, white and red, white on red, red on pale, white skin that littered the ground for three days straight. Red splattered on the ground under Denmark as he smiled, smiled and watched, red on the rims of Sweden's eyes as he watched, watched because he was out of tears to cry with and that was all there was left for him to do. Red on Norway's neck from the night before as he watched but tried not to, tried not to because he knew that in the end, he still loved the man that caused this horror-

Stop. Denmark surely wasn't some monster. He knew this man, his smile, his eyes, and his laugh. Denmark wasn't a monster. Still though, that day had forced him to wonder what really went on in his lover's head sometimes. Sweden said he was maddened by power, and Norway wouldn't tell him not to think so- it was his people that were taken, after all- but he couldn't believe him. That would mean he was marrying a mad man, which Denmark certainly wasn't…and even if he was, they were still being wed. Norway wouldn't change that.

He shouldn't be so frightened. He loved Denmark. Denmark loved him. He had already had the chance to back out, and he threw it away, confirming that he was nothing more than a "_Danish whore", he spat, finally giving up_- and those final words weren't a lie. Norway still ached from last evening, and it wouldn't ease tonight. It never did, never would. The only way to justify it was this- not justify, Norway caught himself. This was love. This was a lover's ritual. Solidify was the word he had been looking for.

Eyes burned the back of his neck, almost accusingly. _Don't you want this, Norway?_ They seemed to ask. _Is this not your lover? _And so Norway forced himself to think rationally again, _remember the people, remember the kingdom- remember that you _love_ him_.

Surely, everyone second guessed themselves at the altar. Brides panicked and swooned all the time, and they went on to have successful marriages and live good lives. It would be the same for him, he was sure. They would wed, their kingdoms would be united, and life would be good for them as a couple. They had wanted this, after all.

Norway was shaken from his current thoughts as a golden glint caught his eye. The ring. How big a part of the ceremony was the ring? It was symbolic for commitment, he was sure. He remembered another day, another ring, another kiss and a promise that they would once again be united. Was that a marriage? Did that make this a repeat? Was this only a cold and hollow mockery of a marriage, the union between two kingdoms? The notion horrified him. Why should their union be any less potent than his peoples'? It was unfair. He suffered for them, and he knew he would continue to, and all he wanted was _this_ to mean something more.

Sprinkled with water now, the ring glistened under the droplets. In a trance like state, he extended his hand. They hadn't done this the first time. This was just as much a marriage as any other, surely these rituals proved that. Denmark smiled at him again, taking his hand to move the ring, and laid it to rest on his longest.

The cold metal burned his skin and branded him.

Denmark's hand returned to its earlier resting place against him, and the ceremony continued. There was no going back. He didn't _want_ to go back. This was what was best for everyone. For their kingdoms. For their ever oblivious people. For two lovers that had waited lifetimes and lifetimes for this.

Another squeeze to his waist. Their vows. It was time for their vows. Norway's throat was bone dry. Denmark spoke first, promises that he had already made millions of times over spoken proudly and clearly. His bright blue eyes glistened with them, and Norway couldn't deny him even if he wanted to. So, he responded slowly, pronouncing every syllable of every word as he agreed to the binding.

The priest probably said a few more things but his own words were all that his brain was able to process before Denmark kissed him, pulling their bodies together tightly. Norway simply tilted his head and opened his lips to let Denmark's tongue make him so pleasurably dizzy like so many times before. Strong hands moved from his waist then, to the small of his back, then lower. If the priest was perturbed by the lust-filled display on the supposedly sacred place, he didn't show it. He simply stood, stood and watched as the nobles applauded with delight at the lovely young couple before them- and their kingdom.

* * *

><p>Candle light painted their bodies with a dim glow during the consummation of their marriage.<p>

Norway found himself comfortably dizzy, bouncing himself on Denmark's lap with soft sighs and pants. This haze was ever so familiar; a ritual that they had done so many times over that if it weren't for the glint from the band on his finger one may not have guessed that this was their wedding night. But Norway knew- there was no way that he could forget. Denmark groaned a heavy groan, grabbing Norway's hips harshly and pressing even deeper into him. It was Norway's turn to moan in response, his vision blurring as he forced himself to keep riding his lover.

"H-aah- nngh- aah…" He wailed, soft and breathy. Denmark just grinned his trademark grin, and through gasps murmured that Norway was _his_.

Neither of them could dispute that statement.

More moaning, panting, the Norwegian was almost sobbing as the pace picked up. He felt like his insides were falling loose, and he couldn't bring himself to stop. Denmark couldn't even smile anymore; he was biting his lip as he bucked his hips harder and faster and _deeper_-

Norway threw his head back as he finished, bangs matted against his forehead and eyelashes fluttering uncontrollably as he let out a shrill cry of pleasure. He looked beautiful in the candle light, and Denmark would have told him as much if he could make his mouth work but he was too busy bringing himself to his own climax. He dug his nails into Norway's hips when he spilled into him, moaning out his lover's name while he did. Angry red marks marred pale white skin now, but Denmark couldn't bring himself to loosen his grip and Norway couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, the Norwegian looked down on his lover and watched the way the light hit his face and tinted it gold.

Golden. Everything was golden. The sea of sheets shone with it, corn silk hair was highlighted by it, and that smile he knew that he fell in love with sometime somewhere was even brighter than usual. Their kingdom, too, would surely shine gold the second sunlight fell across it.

_Jeg elsker dig_, Denmark murmured through the gold, pulling Norway close to him in a way that could almost be tender if it wasn't first possessive. Not that Norway minded.

_Jeg elsker deg ogsa_, he responds. The words slip though his lips easily and that means he must mean them- he does. He does. He lifts a hand to tangle in Denmark's already messy hair, and the glint on his finger catches his eyes again. It too is golden, but not from the light. It was really, truly golden. Even once the flame died, it would be golden.

But Denmark would not be, and neither would he. They would be red, red like the scrapes on Norway's hip bones or the blood on Denmark's hands- but not golden. They would never be golden. Only this thing that symbolized their union, and even the union itself, was golden- and they, alone, were not.

And somehow, Norway was okay with that.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Hello everyone~ I tried my hand at a some-what historical fic for my OTP, and I'm actually kind of happy with it. I would like to thank FarbrorEstersPokjar for the inspiration, they are a really awesome cosplay group on YouTube who focus on Nordic history. They're seriously really funny and actually pretty historically accurate, and they're definately worth checking out if you have some free time. Really, they're lovely~ I guess it's odd that from such silliness I got this angsty thing, but apparently that's all I can write. Ah well. Isn't the saying "It's the thought that counts?"<p>

My backround music was the first three minutes of Mystic's Dream by Loreena Mckennitt. If you like have a listen, and of not then please enjoy anyway~

Some Historical Stuff-

Denmark-Norway (in this fic, the wedding) started in1536. That is after the Medieval period. However, Medieval customs for weddings in Scandinavia were all I could find records of apart from wedding ceremonies in the Viking ages. So, though these times are no longer Medieval, this was the closest I could get to an accurate wedding. I read that nothing changed anyway until circa eighteen-hundered, but you may (politely please) correct me if I'm wrong.

The customs mentioned all have to do with the ring, and are as follows:

-Blessing the ring with holy water was done first.

-The ring was moved from the thumb, to the index finger, and then to the middle finger to represent the trinity. Please don't call me out for mentioning a religion here, it's just part of the ceremony.

-There was actually only one ring exchanged; it was given to the bride from the groom. It was a symbol of commitment, loyalty, authority and social-status.

On Norway being dressed like a chick- pretty sure gay marriage wasn't really accepted at that time. Once again, if anyone has information to contradict that you may share with me~

The Stokholm Bloodbath is also mentioned here. For three days straight, more than one hundred Swedish Nobles were killed in Stokholm by Danish forces.

If I forgot something feel free to ask me about it.

Reviews are better than drugs- please leave one?


End file.
